


The A-Z of Romance

by pintpotjudas



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Humour, M/M, Misunderstandings, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:19:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pintpotjudas/pseuds/pintpotjudas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This originally appeared on indeedsir, which is an excellent  lj comm under a former username. It is a fic comprised of twenty six drabbles, which, when read together, tell a J/W story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The A-Z of Romance

**Arousal**

I carefully knot my master’s bowtie, attempting to focus entirely on the twist and pull of the fine silk between my fingers. I know I must act as if the delicate skin his gracile neck does not seem to call for my kisses, as if the mere scent of him does not make me ache. He is utterly beautiful.

He shrugs on his suit jacket and the elegant taper of his waist is accentuated in a manner which seems almost obscene. I clench my fists and know my attraction must be overcome if I am to remain in his employ.

**Baffled**

Bertie can only assume he has offended Jeeves in some way. He has no idea what exactly he has done (alpine hats and purple socks notwithstanding.) In the years they have known each other, Bertie has come to realise that Jeeves isn’t the closed book he pretends to be, if you prick him he doth bleed and so on.

“I say, Jeeves, you seem less than oo jah cum spiff of late, anything amiss?” Bertie asks one morning, taking the bull firmly by its horns.

Jeeves merely shakes his head and hands Bertie his (perfect) tea. “I couldn’t say, sir.”

**Curiosity**

There are times when one’s store of good humour runs decidedly low. For instance, I was currently in possession of a cagey but obviously distressed valet, a new and entirely unwanted fiancé and an aunt who could give most dictators a run for their ill gotten money.

I had no doubt in my mind that Jeeves would solve the fiancé issue faster than he mixed a dashed excellent cocktail but I had to wonder what had gotten the man into such a state.

Detective B. W. Wooster was on the case. I only hope it is one I can solve.

**Dread**

Despite my best efforts, Mr. Wooster is watching me ever closer, seemingly concerned over my emotional state. No, not ‘seemingly concerned’. He is concerned, genuinely so. I am alarmed both by his ability to read my emotions and the strange warmth I feel whenever his kind gaze falls upon me, a question in his eyes.

I know this is no longer simply attraction, a longing for a warm body, lust for a particularly desirable man. I only want him, his sweet nature, his unbreakable spirit.

Any day he will work it out and I fear I shall lose him entirely.

**Envy**

“Sounds to me like a classic case of lovesickness.” Bingo Little states, sinking a billiard with practiced skill.

Bertie’s knees feel oddly weak at that thought, as if someone has replaced them with jelly. Jeeves... in love?

“Do you really think so?”

“If you say this acquaintance of yours is off his feed, seems oddly distracted... it all fits, Bertie.”

Suddenly Bertie can picture her, this perfect woman, clinging to Jeeves’ arm, making him smile, giving him happiness, children, a life.

Jealousy roils in his stomach.

“Yes, sounds like love.” Bingo declares. “Or perhaps food poisoning, similar symptoms, I’ve found.”

**Faithful**

One has to stick to his guns. And my particular claim to fame is that I consider myself to be a preux chevalier who lives by the Code of the Woosters. Whilst the thought of it makes my throat constrict and my eyes go distinctly misty, I cannot hold Jeeves captive in my employ if he’d rather be off, romancing the g of his d.s.

I have come to accept that love, for a man like myself, is a bittersweet thing. I have adored him for an age but if letting him leave will make him happy, so be it.

**Guilt**

Mr Wooster has asked to speak with me privately, so I find myself uncomfortably perched in one of living room chairs facing him as he sits in the other.

“Now, Jeeves, I know you haven’t quite been yourself these past few months. Let me assure you that I have not been, in any way, dissatisfied with your work. But, Jeeves... if you are dissatisfied... I...”

He breaks here and looks rather distressed. I realise that I must have been worrying him all this time. I feel contrition wash through me.

“No, sir, I am not dissatisfied, nor am I unhappy.”

**Hope**

“Jeeves, you cannot tell me you are entirely happy.”

“Sir, I-”

“And I want you to know, Jeeves, that it is alright.”

“...sir?”

“You wouldn’t be the first man to fall in love and feel that it is hopeless.”

“...”

“Jeeves?”

“My apologies, sir. I am merely... somewhat surprised at your acceptance.”

“Acceptance? Do you think me some sort of barbarian, Jeeves? I don’t expect you to ever have to deny your feelings.”

“Thank you, sir. You simply cannot know what this means to me.”

“I do want you to have happiness. In whichever form.”

“Sir... Bertie... please know I-”

**Interference**

Augustus Fink-Nottle despite appearing to have a physique comparable to one of his beloved newts can actually move surprisingly quickly, even faster when being chased by an umbrella wielding Spode across central London.

He didn’t think twice about legging it towards the relatively safe environs of Berkeley Square. He barely paused to tip his hat at the doorman who uttered a bemused “Afternoon, sir.” before bowling up the stairs towards Bertie’s flat.

Gussie, in his rush to relay his tale, didn’t notice the proximity of gentleman and valet, or their slightly guilty expressions. The pair thanked heaven for small favours.

**Jumbled**

That fathead Gussie is still droning on about his latest debacle re Madeline and the dictator, but I can barely pay attention. I am completely distracted by thoughts of the earlier discussion between  myself and Jeeves before the interruption.

One second I was girding my loins, ready to wish him Godspeed, have a wonderful life, please don’t write because it will obliterate what will be left of my shattered heart, and then he’s all but touching my hand tenderly and using my Christian name. Perhaps it was merely his gratitude making him forget himself, but that doesn’t seem quite right.

**Kind Hearted**

Totleigh Towers must be the address Mr Wooster loathes the most in all his social circles, but the second his friend asks for his , and by extension my, help, we are in the two seater heading for the godforsaken place.

He is quiet in the car, perhaps ruminating on our enlightening chat. I hope to God he knows how I feel, that the depths of my emotions do not scare him. I itch to take his hand but worry that will only make me long for things we cannot share in a place with little privacy. Damn it all.

**Longing**

Jeeves is bunging Bertie into the old soup and fish. Bertie is wondering how long he will be able to enjoy the innocent touches bestowed upon him by practiced hands before his valet legs it to pleasanter, femaler shores.

Jeeves is wondering how long it will be before Bertie allows him to undress him, not with the professional detachment of a valet, but with the affection and desire of a lover. To kiss every precious inch of his china white skin as it is slowly exposed.

It is then that their eyes meet in the mirror, longing staring at longing.

**Miraculous**

I spin around, propelled by a need to see that look in his eyes honestly, rather than just as a trick of the reflection.

“Me?” I ask, rather stupidly.

“Of course.” he replies, then frowns. “Did you think-”

“I was sure you’d found-”

“There simply couldn’t be-”

“Someone else.” We say, at the same time.

I cannot help it, but I laugh. I clutch his wrists and press my forehead to his and I laugh away the wasted worry, the fruitless grief.

“Sir- do you?” He sounds slightly perturbed.

“Utterly. Hopelessly. Irrevocably. You.”

Then I kiss his beloved lips.

**Nervous**

Having solved Gussie’s trifles Bertie and Jeeves high tailed it back to London, desperate for some much needed privacy.

As soon as the door closed, Bertie was being kissed like it would be outlawed. He clung tightly to Jeeves, wanting to feel every inch of his sublime body against and atop his own.

Once in the bedroom their initial enthusiasm turned almost to shyness. Bertie wondered just what about his skinny, bony body attracted Jeeves. Jeeves worried that his practical physique would not appeal to his master. They needn’t have worried, they discovered each was the other’s idea of perfection.

**Oblivious**

He curls up against me in sleep, which I find utterly adorable. His unruly blonde hair is even more rebellious after hours of strenuous, yet supremely satisfying behaviour. I have always taken a measure of enjoyment in watching him sleep, catching him seconds before he wakes. His long lashes fanned against his pale cheek, his full lips slightly parted, the soft rise and fall of his chest.

Now I have free reign to stroke the curls on his head, draw my finger curiously across his lip, kiss his chest. A sleepy eye opens, momentarily confused, before a sunrise like smile.

**Passion**

I’d known that Jeeves was a man with inner depths: one cannot quote the sheer volume of poetry, not to mention Shakespeare, on such a regular basis that the man does and not have a romantic side. He is near to reverent in the early morning light, pressing soft kisses to every available inch of me, muttering sweet phrases against my skin.

I seek his lips, claim his mouth and kiss him until I’m nearly out of breath.

“God, I love you, Reg.”I whisper.

Events speed up considerably after that, a delicious tangle of limbs as we reach our climax.

**Quarrelsome**

Both Reginald and Bertie would have preferred to stay in bed for the foreseeable future, but this was rendered impossible by a telegram alerting them to Mrs. Agatha Gregson’s imminent arrival.

Thankfully the both of them were present and correct, if still slightly soppy, by the time Bertie’s aunt darkened the doorstep.

 “Bertie, you are taking myself and Miss Tibbs, who is to be your future wife and make no mistake, out to lunch.” Agatha stated, with all the imperiousness of a maharaja.

Bertie could do nothing save throw a startled look at Jeeves before he was dragged forcibly away.

**Resentment**

It is not the place of a servant to pass judgment on the morals of the people he serves, but I cannot abide that woman nor the treatment she bestows on her nephew. She forces unsuitable women on him constantly and becomes furious when her poor attempts at matchmaking fail.  She is ill mannered, mean spirited and in every sense of the phrase, a nephew crusher.

 Yet one of my deepest fears is the one day she will find someone; a light-hearted, kind woman who will capture his heart and my staid, stoic nature will cease to appeal to him.

 

**Sick (and tired)**

Have you ever wondered how many different ways one can tie a ribbon in one’s hair? I’m sure you haven’t because it isn’t the kind of thing anyone wonders. At least not a person who has run out of every other thing there is to wonder about in the world.

Miss Amelia Tibbs is currently telling me that the best way she has found is to secure the ribbon with pins before tying her hair. I long to be home with Reg and consider eating my napkin so I shall be excused from this excruciating meal on grounds of madness.

**Treasured**

Reginald had managed to work himself into a state by the time Bertie arrived home. He worried that Miss Tibbs might have charmed Bertie into a rare, reciprocal engagement. All thoughts and fears were chased from his mind, however, when Bertie all but hurled himself into his arms the second the front door closed.

A few hours later a sleepy and sated Bertie stroked a path up and down Reginald’s flank.

“Do you have any strong feelings towards ribbons, Reg?”

Reginald frowned. “...no?”

Bertie grinned, happily. “And that is one of the many sterling qualities in you that I love.”

**Unhesitating**

After the ribbon revelation it didn’t take much legwork for Reginald to discover that the haberdashers where Miss Amelia Tibbs bought her ribbons was run by a Mr. Aaron Torrance Senior, but Mr. Aaron Torrance Junior was the handsome young man behind the counter.

A whisper in the gent’s ear and a nudge in the right direction and Amelia was soon picking out her wedding ribbons, with the help of her fiancé, the future Mr Aaron Torrance-Tibbs.

All of Bertie’s usual gratefulness on an escape from an engagement were present that evening, as well as some newer expressions of thanks.

**Vital**

If the relationship between self and Reg was like the ones you usually see depicted at the pictures, then you would imagine it would be all stars as God’s daisy chains and dream rabbit-ish. Of course ,it isn’t like that. For a start, we’re both coves so if our tender emotions were emulated on the big screen the entire cast and crew of the big picture would be bunged in the chokey.

We are also real. We argue about silly things and get on each other’s nerves. But we love, need and want each other. And that means much more.

**Warm**

Bertie has often stated, since the beginning of our affaire de Coeur, that I am to treat every room of the flat as my home. I have become more comfortable with this notion, but it still pulls at the edges of my sense of propriety. He says that it is ridiculous to feel fine about ‘rogering him silly’ yet not want to sit on a couch.

Now the door is locked, I have Spinoza on my knee and I am seated on ‘our’ chesterfield. He sits at the piano, playing some exquisite Bach concertos. All is right in our world.

**XOXO**

Kisses are not something Reginald and Bertie take for granted. Sometimes Bertie will be walking through a crowded train station and catch a young couple in an embrace and his heart  will come near to breaking for the jealousy and injustice of it. He loves Reg, he knows there is nothing wrong with that and yet.

When they are alone Bertie bestows all the kisses he longs to give. The brief‘ Hello, how are you?’ pecks, the lingering, intense, ‘I have missed you’ types and the deep, passionate, ‘You are my world’ ones. Reginald understands the meaning behind each kiss.

**Yearning**

Sometimes, when I’m counting all the things I’m grateful for, I find myself thinking back to the time  Reginald and I came together. If there hadn’t been that misunderstanding about some girl, who actually turned out to be me. I think about how unhappy was (and Reg was, by his account) and where we’d be if I hadn’t spectacularly gotten the wrong end of the stick.

Even now I glance across the room or wake up in bed next to him and cannot believe that he’s mine. And then he smiles, devastatingly, and I am happily lost all over again.

 

**Zest**

The main thing, besides loveless, that my life would be without him, is dull. He brings me his problems and his amusing anecdotes; he shares his life with me and draws me away from the dull drudgeries of duty.

He finds creative ways and places to make love, he considers things in manners I could not even conceive of, he plays music and sings according to his mood. My life is so much brighter with him in it.

I once asked him how he managed to stay ever joyful.

He smiled and replied “Because I finally have you, old thing.”


End file.
